


Monsoon

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Kissing in the Rain, Rain Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2019-11-24 22:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: What if a certain someone had followed Bridget to Ko Samui?Book universe.





	Monsoon

**Author's Note:**

> Started out as an excuse for a rain-soaked shag. Grew wildly out of control from there.
> 
> Disclaimer: Aren't my characters; are my words.

_Friday 15 August_

She thought she must be hallucinating, that the magic mushrooms from her omelette a week earlier still had a hold over her senses, as she looked up from where she was kneeling on the floor, packing her bag. That was the only explanation for what she was seeing, or rather, _whom_ she was seeing standing at the door of the hut, the monsoon sheeting behind him like a transparent curtain. He was soaked through to the skin, his dress shirt plastered down to his chest, suit jacket curiously absent; water was dripping from the curls of his closely cropped hair; his heather grey trousers were practically black with rain.

"Mark?" she asked. "Is that really you?"

Mark—or the hallucination of same—did not express any joy at seeing her, nor did he rush forward to sweep her up into his arms. No, he only screwed up his features then began speaking in a stern tone.

"What are you doing in a dangerous place like this, your door wide opened? Have you no sense of self-preservation?"

It was then she knew he was the real thing.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, scrambling unsteadily to her feet as he stepped further in, closing the door behind him.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, reaching to help her by taking her upper arm. 

She shook him off, smoothing down her wrap skirt. "I am not," she said defiantly, though she couldn't be absolutely sure she wasn't still feeling the effect of the mushrooms. "If you're trying to curry favour with me that isn't the way to do it. And you haven't answered my question."

He was dripping all over the bare wooden floor as he stood there in silence. "Bridget, why do you think? Where's Sharon?"

"She's gone with Jed to our new hotel," she said, deftly avoiding the fact they were moving hotels due to the theft of nearly all of their things, which would have rather proved his point regarding safety. "And you still aren't answering my question, unless you came to bring me an umbrella, which…." She looked pointedly at his lack of said object.

He took in a breath. "I know what I said in my note, but I can't bear it, Bridget, I can't," he said in a great rush.

She blinked rapidly. Note? The only note he'd given her was a poem. "You mean Rudyard Kipling? What was so special about that?"

It was his turn now to blink. "Kipling? What?"

She bent down to her bag, fished into the pocket of the only western clothes she had remaining (her jeans) and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here. This. 'If'."

He took the paper from her hand, read it, his lips miming the words rapidly; he then read through it again as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "This was my dad's poem."

"I know. So why did you give it to me?"

He stood there, stock still, as his eyes focused upon her, as if he were deep in thought. Then he began to cough. Not cough, she realised. Laugh. At first it was a reasonable sort of laughter. Then he began laughing like a madman.

"Mark? What the—"

The rest of her sentence was pre-empted as she found herself abruptly in his embrace, found herself unable to speak for the lips that had claimed hers. It was such a surprise that she didn't have time to think about her response; she merely returned every kiss he gave her, pressed herself to his rain-soaked body, felt him shiver as her fingers combed over the sodden waves of his hair.

But then she remembered: silken hair. Shiny teeth. Perfect body. Viper-tongued.

Rebecca.

"Bridget," he said in a gasp. "Don't let's bring her up."

"Bring her up?" she said, pushing away, or at least trying to, but he wouldn't let her go. "Bring her up?! She's your bloody girlfriend, Mark. Does she even know you—"

"My what? My _girlfriend_?" he asked, incredulous. "Why on God's green earth would I choose her over you? I love you, Bridget. _You_. And when I thought you didn't want me, I couldn't bear it—" 

"Why would you think that?" she interrupted. "I tried explaining that Gary was only the builder."

"No, not that," he said. "Well, yes, that too, but I mean the note."

"The 'If' poem." She felt as if they were going in circles.

"Yes—I mean no. That wasn't what I'd intended to give you. There was a mix-up after the dolphin shattering. I'd been writing you a note, Bridget. One that laid my feelings out on the line, one that gave you an out if you only wanted to be friends—but I couldn't accept that you had actually taken the out. That you didn't love me anymore. That's why I came. I couldn't wait for you to get back. It was far too important."

The look in his eyes, the tremor in his voice, not to mention what he was saying… the sound of whooshing in her ears was rivalled only by the rain coming down even harder than before on the roof. "Mark," she said, her own voice faltering. "Of course I—"

At that moment, the roof, which was patched together with (probably) spit and baling wire, gave up the fight against the monsoon and caved in, pouring warm rain down up on their heads. There was nothing to be done but to laugh. He pushed her hair out of her eyes from where it had been plastered down by the sheer force of rainwater. "—love you," she finished at last, sputtering a bit. "I haven't stopped, but I thought you—"

"Shh," he said, then drew her close again, ran his fingers over her cheek, then lowered his head to kiss her once more.

Now that she was with him, now that they were kissing and surely reunited, she did not even care about the rain coming down on them. She ran her hands over his back as she pulled him close to her; he ran his over the soggy shirt she wore, reached down to the bottom hem and tugged it upwards. Startled, she drew away. He pulled over her head, tossing it to the ground with a wet thud.

"They're wet anyway," he murmured. "And I'd rather not wait."

"Everything's wet," she replied, her hands reaching over the slippery cotton to undo his shirt buttons all the way down to his trousers.

Pulling wet clothes off was far more difficult a task than dry, but before long the two of them, bare of all clothing, stood there with the heavens pouring down upon them, their kiss and their embrace resumed, water pooling in the spaces formed by where their bodies met. His hands slipped down her back and over her bottom, his hands cupping her there gently; he made a soft sound as he did.

"Bridget, I've missed you," he said, sounding rather more desperate than she was used to hearing. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd refused me."

"I didn't. I couldn't," she said, then lifted her head to tease his lower lip with her tongue. This prompted him to quickly and fiercely take her mouth with another kiss.

It seemed everything in the room was soaked, even the mattress on the floor; this she discovered when they sunk down to it, rain pattering against their skin ever so gently. He laid her back, gazed upon her lovingly then bent over her, taking a breast in his hand as he kissed her. She moaned as her fingers slid over her wet skin. He nuzzled into her neck, lapped rainwater from the hollow of her throat, took the peak of her breast between his lips then grazed with his teeth until he coaxed it into a hard point. He then moved to the other one, and as he did his fingers flitted a trail along the skin of her abdomen; she could tell he was eager to have her, but also taking great pleasure in rediscovering all that he had missed.

He touched the tender skin on her thighs; she whimpered as he thrust his tongue into her mouth in time with his fingertips traversing into the damp heat between her legs. She heard and felt him groan as he did it. Her fingers clenched into the soggy blankets; she struggled not to cry out because the last thing she wanted was someone running in to save her. Only one thing was going to save her, and with the way he was already lying against her, moving her legs apart with a gentle but insistent hand, she would find her salvation soon.

The rain was lessening somewhat but did not cease. She brought her hands up to his back, pressing her fingers into him, sliding them across his back and bottom, encouraging him downward, the raindrops acting as additional conspiratorial prodding fingers as they poked upon his back; she then arched up and reached down to take him in hand, to guide him towards her, begging him without words to make that final connection with her. He did not need much more persuasion than this.

As he drove forward, as he entered her, he made a soft sound to match her own; he pushed forth again, then again, his breath rapid and hot on her neck as he took the lobe of her ear between his teeth, biting gently on each thrust. She thought she might go mad with both the sensation of everything as well as restraining the urge to cry out; before she knew it, though, her body was surrendering to him. With her lower lip fixed firmly between her teeth, she found utter release. Although it was powerful (and quite wonderful), reaching climax seemed to take far too little time, but it had, after all, been too long an interval without his love, both emotional and physical. 

The same seemed to be true for him. She heard his efforts to rein in his own voice, but could definitely feel that moment where he went taut all over, thrusting forward one last time as he came. He moaned into her ear as he drew her up against him again. "Bridget," he murmured, then kissed her cheek, her jaw, then her lips. He then moved so that they were lying on their sides. The squish of the bedding seemed to bring him back to reality. He started to chuckle, turning his face up to the tempest above.

She chuckled too. 

As their laughter subsided, though, he kissed her again, sweetly and tenderly. At that moment, as if controlled by a switch, the rain ceased and the sun actually began to blaze through the new hole in the roof. 

"Looks like the storm has passed," he said, clearly enjoying the sun warming his skin, and equally enjoying the sun playing on hers.

"Looks like," she said, fully appreciating the dual meaning. She was so glad he had come to find her, even if he had travelled half the world to do it. Her brows came together. "How in the world did you know where to find me, anyway?"

"Your mum," he said.

"She didn't have this address."

"She told me you and Sharon were staying on Ko Samui in a hut. It wasn't that hard to find two blonde Englishwomen."

She smiled smugly, very grateful that he was so clever. "Sun feels nice," she said. "It's hardly shone all week."

"I told you it was the rainy season," he mused. She glanced over to him; he had his eyes closed, had a serene expression on his face.

"So you did." She sighed. She would have been content to recline here with him all afternoon, but the monsoon would undoubtedly be back, and she was supposed to be vacating the hut. There was the matter of clothing, and—

"Bridge? What in arse are you doing in there?"

It was Shazzer. She watched Mark's eyes open wide just as the door did.

"What the—Oh my God," Shaz said. "I—"

Just as quickly she retreated, closing the door on them. "Shaz, wait!" Bridget got to her feet, found her top and skirt and, after ringing out the excess water, dressed in them with some difficulty. She left Mark doing the same with his own clothing.

Shaz was blinking in the bright sun, or possibly from the shock of the scene upon which she'd walked in. "Shaz, I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you doing? Getting in a last 'Boy Who Has Hut Near One' shag?"

"Sharon, that's Mark," she hissed.

Sharon's mouth dropped open. "No. _No way_." 

Bridget nodded as she smiled. "He followed me because he still loves me."

"He followed you to fucking Thailand," she said in disbelief.

She nodded earnestly.

"Aw, Bridge," Sharon began, but the door opened again at that moment.

It was Mark. He didn't look happy; rather, he looked shocked and ashen. "Bridget, Sharon, please come in here," he said in an almost robotic voice. "There's a serious problem."

As soon as they entered, he closed the hut's door behind them.

"Damn right there's a problem," Sharon said, peering up. "There's a giant fucking hole in the ceiling."

Bridget knew that was not what Mark meant. Her eyes were focused on the item in his hand, a carryall with the seam torn away to reveal what had been hidden within: small packets of white powder.

"Explain this, ladies," he said. Sharon gasped as she looked down.

"Mark, I have no idea—" Bridget began, then stopped, because just then she did know, simultaneous to Sharon coming to a similar conclusion.

"Fucking Jed!" hissed Sharon. "The hut was burgled this morning." Mark shot a very severe look to Bridget, who looked down to where her hands were folded together in front of her. "Jed was kind enough to loan us this bag. Said we could return it to us when we got back to London." She snorted. "I _bet_ he fucking wanted it back."

"And who is this 'Jed' person?" Mark asked, his composure regained, though Bridget hated to admit she was distracted by the sight of his tousled, drying, mussed hair and hastily buttoned, still-damp and somewhat translucent shirt.

With her skin crimsoning even further, Sharon explained the Harrison Ford-type they had befriended, who had been nice enough to give them guidance and assistance when needed. "And here he just wanted me— _us_ —to be his drug mules." She was so furious she was practically spitting.

"Best this was caught now rather than later," he said gently. He then smiled tenderly, his gaze turning to Bridget. "I have a plan."

………

Mark had taken his own room at another hotel, one far more expensive and posh than the one they had decided to take, but he spent the evening in the room with Sharon and Bridget. Their room, after all, was very close to Jed's, and Mark wanted to be present when the authorities came, found Jed there with a carryall filled with drugs and carted him off to jail.

Carrying their things back in the drug-laden bag was a necessity, but Mark was kind enough to buy them each a clean replacement. Getting the bag back into the room was no easy feat. Sharon had to distract him into the hallway with an acting job worthy of Dame Judi while Bridget slipped in and put the zipped bag back amongst his things. The call was made shortly thereafter, anonymously of course; Mark enlisted one of the hotel staff to phone in the tip, and they were especially willing to cooperate when they realised how bad it would look for the hotel to be implicated in some way. He had also managed to get the hotel to waive the fee for the hotel room for the night. 

They were alerted to the arrival of the police when they heard raised voices in the hall. A search of Jed's room evidently revealed additional augmented bags—yes, the three of them were curious and went into the hall like the other residents, though Bridget and Sharon were careful to stay out of sight—as well as Bridget's and Sharon's holdalls. Mark was able to persuade the police that their stolen items were not necessary to keep as evidence, that the drugs case was strong enough without them. She saw him slip the policeman several bills as he made his argument. The policeman, without a word, allowed them to take their bags.

They hastily retreated back into the rented room, closing and locking the door.

"Everything there?" Mark asked as they quickly rifled through them.

"Appears to be," said Bridget.

"Tickets. _Passports_. Oh my God, Mark, what would we have done without you?"

Bridget glanced up to see Mark looking quite pleased, indeed. "Happy I could be here to help."

Bridget couldn't help herself; overwhelmed with the events of the day, from a joyful though sodden reunion with Mark, to nearly escaping being a drug mule (the possible result of which was too horrible to contemplate), she fell to slump on the bed and began to sob. In an instant Mark was at her side, his arm around her shoulders.

"It's all right, darling," he said soothingly. 

Sharon was on her other side and took her hand, squeezing gently. "Just think how much worse it might have been. His goons were too stupid to just pitch our things, and now we can actually, you know, get back to Bangkok to go home on Tuesday."

Bridget knew that Sharon might have projected an image of impenetrable iron will, but she could feel Sharon trembling. She patted Sharon's hand. "I am thankful for many, many things," she said.

"I was stupid," said Sharon. She heard (and felt) her friend sob. 

Bridget let go of Sharon's hand then put her arm around her friend. "You weren't stupid. He was just a supremely good liar."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Mark said, "Why don't we have a nice supper to take our minds off of everything? After all, in the end, we ended up doing pretty well." He then kissed Bridget on the top of her head.

"That sounds wonderful," said Sharon wistfully, "but I'm a bit nervous to leave my stuff here. Or to stay, quite frankly, what with Jed's men still out there."

Bridget felt Mark tense up, then push back a little. "Of course," he said, sounding oddly cool. "Foolish of me. What have I been thinking?" He stood up. "Come, get your things."

"Mark, I'm not leaving Sharon here."

He smiled. "Both of you. I'm not leaving either of you here."

Bridget had never seen Sharon look so relieved. 

……… 

Running water. Air conditioning. Bridget had never been so grateful for either in her entire life. Mark had booked a second room in his hotel, then after cleaning themselves up a little, the three of them had dinner there in the hotel dining room. When Mark excused himself, Bridget got to give Sharon the details of their reunion—and the fact that he hadn't been seeing Rebecca. "He loves me, Sharon," she said in a whisper. "He said so."

"Then why spend so much time with that vapid cow?" Sharon asked.

It was a point she had not quite given consideration. "Well," Bridget began, drawing out the word. "You know how hard it can be to shake her. It's probable that she'd set her sights on him, but he was too… polite to tell her to—"

"—to fuck off," finished Sharon. "I suppose that's possible."

"More than possible." It was Mark, taking a seat beside Bridget again. "That's exactly what happened, but I realised it far too late. We ended up at so many of the same events only because I hoped you'd be there." He put his hand atop hers, offered a smile. "I saw only with the benefit of hindsight that she was making passes at me, Bridget… but I thought she was your friend, and she always seemed so concerned about you, so it was worth tolerating her presence if it meant I could see you, maybe get the chance to… well." He squeezed her hand gently. "Here we are. No sense rehashing it over again."

She smiled, felt tears welling in her eyes. Probably it was in part due to the toll her vacation—hell, that day—had taken on her body and mind; partly, she knew, it was due to the happiness she felt to have Mark back in her life.

At the conclusion of the meal, the three of them went towards the lift. "Mark," said Sharon, "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done today. I mean… I am in your debt more than I can ever express."

"Nonsense," he said. "It was the least I could do. A friend of Bridget's is, I hope, a friend of mine."

Sharon smiled, then began to laugh. "Indeed."

The lift reached the floor upon which the second room was situated. Sharon had the key and stepped forward after the door opened. Bridget said, "I'm going to… you know. Stay with Mark."

Sharon laughed, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder. "I'd think you mad if you didn't."

"Enjoy the amenities," said Mark.

"Try not to go overboard on the minibar," teased Bridget.

Sharon laughed and winked as the doors closed again.

The lift then rose another couple of floors, then opened to their floor. Mark took out the key as he approached his door, turned it in the lock, then opened it for her. "Here we are."

For a brief moment she thought about the conditions of the hut in which she'd been staying for nearly a fortnight; to her eyes the room before her seemed almost a mirage. The room was dark, the blinds were drawn back, and all she could see as she moved closer to the window were the lights of huts and bonfires dotting the beach, other lights, probably motorboats, moving over the water; just faintly she could hear the rustle of the palm fronds as the rain came down again. So peaceful, so serene, particularly from this height. It really was a beautiful place, she thought, but she sure would not miss the mosquitos.

He switched on a lamp, startling her a little. "Sorry," he said.

"Don't be." She turned back to him. "You must be exhausted."

"I slept on the plane," he said. "But yes. I'm getting there." He came near to her, drew her into his arms. "I'll be glad to share more than a rain-sodden mattress with you."

"That rain-sodden mattress had its high points."

"This comfortable bed before you will have even more."

She smiled as she tightened her embrace.

"Want a shower before bed?" he murmured.

"The hottest one I can stand, if you don't mind."

"Of course," he said.

As expected, he joined her under the stream of piping hot water and was very diligent in his washing duties; as he ran soapy hands over her skin he stopped to push his fingertips into her aching shoulders and back. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her as he found the knots that had built up from sleeping on the floor of the hut. For a moment she felt as if she had died and gone to heaven, or at least reached Nirvana.

She washed him too—they were far too weary to attempt anything more than washing whilst in the shower—and when they were finished they each took a soft cotton towel with which to dry themselves. With the bath towel tucked neatly around her chest, she dried her hair with a smaller towel and as she availed herself of a complimentary toothbrush, she saw him (via the mirror) gazing at her with an unmistakeably loving look. She finished brushing then rinsed her mouth with water.

"What?" she asked with a smile.

"Just thinking how much better I'll sleep tonight with you there next to me," he said; the candidness of his tone surprised her. He stepped forward and took her hand, then kissed her. "Go on, get into bed. I'll be right there."

She slipped off the towel and hung it over the bar, then left the loo; by comparison the air in the main part of the room was cooler, and in reflex gooseflesh raised over her entire body. She practically dove between the sheets, pulled the duvet to her chin and nestled into the pillow on the side of the bed she traditionally called hers.

The sinking of the bed beside her coupled with Mark's gentle laughter woke her from a sleep she didn't realise she'd fallen into. "Sorry," she said, opening her eyes and reaching for him. He still felt quite warm to the touch.

"It's all right," he said, reaching to switch the lamp off then folding her into his arms. In the dark his lips clumsily found hers, bringing her to full wakefulness as he pulled her flush against him; his hand slid down over the curve of her arse. "Hope you don't mind," he said softly.

"'Mind'," she scoffed. "As if."

She heard his low laughter, then felt his lips touch hers again, sparking yet another flame of desire in her. He brushed his fingers against her skin, ran his palm over her breast, all the while kissing her reverently on her mouth, jaw, and earlobe, running his tongue against the pulse in her neck. For her part her own fingertips reacquainted themselves with the landscape of his body; the fine hair of his chest, the lines along his abdomen, the cords of his back and the sharp indent of the valley of his spine. As she touched him she could hear and feel his breath stutter; as she brought her fingers back to his hip his own found their way between her legs.

She moaned at the feel of him playing along her wetness, arched up into his touch, urged him close with her hands on her hips. He breathed her name, and then he was shifting between her legs before he quickly, roughly entered her. She gasped at the suddenness of it, but was quickly overcome with the need to match him movement for movement, not trying quite so hard to keep her voice pent up inside. She raked her nails along his back to spur him on as he thrust again and again. He groaned and muttered, "So close, Bridget. Come with me."

He put all of his weight on one elbow then reached down to touch between her legs, feeling his way before finding the one spot that would set her off like a firecracker. She cried out as he both thrust and pressed into her; she felt her climax building ever rapidly, felt she would—

And then she did, just as he went completely still and taut, rocking slightly into her as he came, moaning low in his throat as he did, kissing her passionately as the waves of her own orgasm subsided.

"Darling," he said, his voice completely wrecked, as he moved off to the side, pulling her with him. "How much I've missed you."

"Wouldn't have known," she teased, nuzzling into his neck, lavishing his throat with kisses before sighing in a most satisfied fashion. She suspected that she too would sleep the best sleep she had in quite some time, certainly since she'd been in Thailand. She was also happy she'd get to spend at least part of her holiday with Mark before the flight home on Tuesday from Bangkok. "Mark?" she asked.

"Yes, love," he asked sleepily.

"When were you due to go back? I mean, fly home?"

"No later than you," he said. "But I was pretty confident about finding you. Why?"

"Nothing," she said. "I'm glad you're here for the end of my holiday."

"Better than a mini-break?" he teased.

"Certainly, and much better than the beginning of the holiday, in a hut on the beach. You really don't mind?"

"Mind? Mind what?"

"Paying for—"

He made a dismissive sound. "Stop it, Bridget," he said. "It's worth every pound." He chuckled. "Even if we're likely to spend it in the rain."

After a moment or two, she asked again, "Mark?"

"Bridget," he said darkly.

"They aren't going to try to make us pay for the hut roof and the damage, are they?"

He laughed. "No, love, they aren't. Unless your secret superpower is controlling the weather." 

"No, my secret superpower is waking you with thought-vibes."

"That is a superpower," he mused. "Always did wonder how you managed that."

She snuggled in tight. "Well, anyway, good." After a pause, she added, "I'll—we'll—pay you back; I mean, it's the least I can do. And the—"

"Bridget," he said again in that same tone. "If you insist upon paying me back, here's the exact currency in which I expect payment." He pushed her over onto her back, climbing over and atop her as he began kissing her once more. His hand immediately moved over her breasts, to her hip, to her backside, and she could do nothing but surrender to his touch.

As if she wouldn't want to.

She hadn't expected it possible to be brought to such dizzying, ecstatic heights so soon after their last shag, but when his lips decided to travel down beyond her throat, over her breast to tease her nipple with his teeth, to her stomach to tease her navel with the tip of his tongue…

By the time he was grasping her hips and kissing the tender skin just below her navel, she had mostly lost her senses. When she then felt his tongue on her, licking, probing, driving into her, she knew her utter release would not be long contained. Finding and hitting the locus of nerves was the exact trigger for her release, causing her to buck and moan loudly.

He kissed a trail up along her abdomen, tracing the path he had taken only at a much greater pace; his urgency was underscored by the rapidity with which he drove into her then groaned as he rocked again and again before quickly reaching his climax. He collapsed to the bed, pulling her against him again, kissing her as if apologising for such hastiness on his part.

Oddly, her mind was still on their conversation from before. "What about Sharon," she said breathlessly.

He laughed again. "Well, she can pay me back this way too if you feel that strongly—" He stopped when she started to pummel him softly with her closed fists, but she was laughing too, stopped only by his kissing her languorously again. "Really, Bridget, it's money well spent," he said, resting his head on the pillow beside her own. "Don't give it another thought. All right?"

"Okay," she said, bringing her fingers up to brush his hair away from his forehead. His eyes closed at the tender touch. "Mark?"

"Darling, remember your 'you must be exhausted' question from earlier?"

"I was only going to say I love you."

She saw his cheek dimple with a smile. "Love you too, darling. Now let's get some sleep."

She turned over onto her side and as if long practised habit, he spooned up against her, wrapping his arm over her to pull her up against him. She felt his warm breath skating over her ear, felt his breathing even out as he quite obviously fell deep into sleep. With a smile on her lips she closed her eyes, within moments joining him in slumber.

……… 

_Saturday 16 August_

It was as if a miracle had descended upon the island of Ko Samui.

They were awakened the next morning by the sun brightly illuminating the room. Closer inspection, once they could keep their eyes open against the brightness, revealed there was not a cloud to be found in the sky. Mark was for once astonished into silence as he slipped from the bed, dressed in a robe, and went to the window. 

"This is incredible," he said, appropriately awed.

"It is," she said, "especially as it's done nothing but rain since I got here."

"Hardly surprising as it is the rainy season," he teased. 

"Too bad you didn't get here earlier."

"It's hardly my doing."

"Shush and let me believe what I want to believe."

He turned to look at her, eyes obviously drinking in the sight of her amidst the tousled bed sheets and bathed in golden light, to the point where she almost felt self-conscious. "You did bring a bathing suit, didn't you?" he asked.

"A bikini," she said with much lament.

"Even better," he said with a grin. He moved to sit beside her again. "I'm not usually the sort that prowls the beach, but since we're here and all…"

"Oh?" she said, perking up. "Do you have something to wear on the beach? Or do you consider a dress shirt and trousers 'beach wear'?"

He smiled. "Even if it is the rainy season, surely someone nearby sells swimming trunks." He leaned over and kissed her sweetly on the lips. "Dig out your bikini and that wrap skirt you had on yesterday. We'll go fetch Sharon and have breakfast, go shop for some trunks for me, and have a proper holiday beach day."

She smiled. "It's still really early and Sharon won't be up for eons."

"Breakfast was meant to be early," he said.

"Mark," she said with a pout, "I would still like a cuddle with you before we get on with our day."

He smiled then disrobed and climbed back in beside her. "You're right," he said, taking her into his arms, nuzzling into her neck and planting delicate kisses there. "A bit more battery recharge."

He was just moving those kisses along her throat and up towards her lips when the telephone in the room rang. He stopped, kissed her chin, then reached for the receiver. "Mark Darcy here." She could not make out the words, only that the voice seemed rather high pitched. "Ah," continued Mark, turning his gaze to Bridget. "Yes, we were just getting up. Yes. We'll meet you downstairs. Give us thirty minutes." He then hung up the phone. "So much for Sharon not being up for eons."

At this she laughed and pecked him on the lips. "We'll pick this up later."

After freshening up in the loo, she dressed in her bikini and the wrap skirt as he had requested, then pulled out her green army hat and donned it. He smiled fondly as he saw her; she chuckled at his trousers and buttoned shirt (even if it was short sleeved), and especially his shoes, which were loafers (but, she supposed, at least they were not the sort of shoes he wore to court). "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Perhaps we should get you some sandals too."

They breakfasted in the beach-side café, dining on omelettes of the not-magic-mushroom-variety, which almost led Sharon to blab the entire ganga omelettes story before Bridget glared at her. After eating a respectable fry-up, they wandered out into the dazzling day. A quick trip into a little tourist shop after breakfast found them the centre of the owner's attention; he was extremely friendly and attentive, likely because business was not particularly good during the rainy season. They were able to outfit Mark with a pair of swim trunks that easily could pass for knee-length shorts, as well as some sandals ("So that you don't look like an aged pensioner walking on the beach with socks and shoes with your trunks," said Sharon). Bridget secretly thought it was fun to dress him up like a paper doll, and though he seemed a bit embarrassed by the attention he did not protest.

One of their other purchases was a bottle of sunscreen. The bottle was printed in Thai but the owner assured him that it was a very good level of protection. Bridget helped Sharon get the spots that she couldn't reach on her back. Mark did the same for Bridget, though took much longer than strictly necessary working the cream into the skin on her back. "You're very pale," he said. "Very prone to burning. Must be thorough."

She happily reciprocated.

The beach itself was heaven: not too crowded, sun bright in the sky, gleaming white beaches. They walked together, enjoying the breeze off of the water, Bridget's hand in Mark's, and when the sun got a little too warm for them they paused to slip out of the clothing they had on, leaving on only their swimming outfits. "Hope some little prat doesn't come along and steal them," mumbled Sharon.

Sharon's worry about their things disappearing meant she was in and out of the ocean very quickly. By contrast, and much to Bridget's surprise, Mark went further in with her, and when they got out as far as waist-deep water, sunk down to submerge himself before surfacing again, the water plastering his hair back. He smiled up at her. "Come in. The water's fine."

It was as warm as bathwater, even more apparent as she sunk down to her knees then allowed herself to float. She closed her eyes, water lapping at her ears, and stayed that way for many blissful moments, startled back into the present (with quite a splash) after she felt Mark's fingers on her back. "Just making sure you don't drift away," he said.

"Appreciate it." Now properly upright, she went nearer to him; he took her into his arms and kissed her, the salt of the sea evident on his lips and skin.

"This is the best day of my holiday yet," she murmured as she sat on his lap, her legs to either side of his waist as they floated there. His hands came up and over her backside, then pulled her close to him by grasping her hips.

"I'm glad," he said close to her ear, then he kissed her again, hands sliding over her bare waist and, under cover of the water, up to her bikini-clad breasts.

She let out a little moan, her arms threading around his neck. Surely he wouldn't try anything here, on a public beach with—well, hardly anyone but Shazzer around, but still. "Mark," she said softly.

"Yes, darling," he said, nuzzling into the damp hair at her temple, kissing her there. 

"We should behave," she said in a thoroughly unconvincing voice.

"Hm, you have a point," he said. "Probably shouldn't do this." He gently pressed into her breasts, thumbs directly over the hardened nipples.

"Mark."

"Especially not this."

She could easily have pushed him away, but instead allows his hands to travel down her bared stomach, to her hips, to her thighs, brushing a finger dangerously close to the fabric of her bikini bottom. 

"Mark," she gasped. 

"And I'd better keep you quiet if I'm going to do this."

He kissed her again, pulled her close to him just as his fingers traversed the fabric to tease between her legs; she squealed into his mouth then kissed him deeply, fingernails threading through his hair. Part of her simply loved kissing him; the other part wanted to torture him beyond the point of no return because surely he would not actually shag her there in the water. She chuckled throatily at the feel of the hardness building rapidly against her leg. 

Of course, he had been very good at surprising her lately. Wading in waist-deep water in the ocean should have not been any different.

He drew her gently up then pulled her back down again. She whimpered as she realised he had opened the front of his trunks and that he was lowering her down onto his very erect self. "Shh," he managed as she groaned at the feel of him pushing into her, as they floated there together, his heels rooted into the sand.

His movements were subtle but effective; she could hear him breathing erratically close to her ear, one hand firmly on the small of her back, the other touching her within the fabric of the bikini bottom to heighten her arousal. Despite the location—or possibly because of it, because of his surprising boldness—she felt herself quite quickly close to climax, her arms tightening around his neck.

"Oh," she said softly as the shudders of her release racked her body, as she pulled back and kissed him again, stroking his hair, capturing his own deep and quite obviously restrained moans as he came. His breathing steadied and he held her close, kissing her cheek tenderly.

"We are going to catch such hell from Shazzer," said Bridget playfully. 

She felt and heard him chuckle. "I'm afraid to look."

They both turned to look at the beach at the same time to see Sharon, huge grin on her face, wading in the shallows directly in front of their things; immediately she began to wave. 

"Do you think she—" began Mark.

"Oh, I'm sure she knows."

"Well," he said, kissing her again. "I won't regret anything I do with you."

Bridget smiled as she extricated herself from his lap, then stood up out of the water. "You say that now."

She gave him a moment to compose himself (and his swimming trunks) then took his hand as they walked back to the shore. With each step she realised that _she_ might just regret shagging in the ocean; her inner thighs felt abraded by the salt of the water.

"Have a nice little… swim?" Shazzer called as they came closer; she was grinning widely.

"Delightful," said Mark as he stepped back into his sandals. "Though starting to itch from the salt. Why don't we head back to the hotel, wash up and have a lie down before lunch?"

Bridget shot Mark a grin. It was as if he'd read her mind.

As they approached their hotel, Bridget was besieged by an old man who began talking to them pleadingly in broken English regarding when she and her friends were going to come back to his place for breakfast; with a dawning horror Bridget realised that the man was the cook at the ganga place, and that he'd recognised the two blonde western women from their previous visits. She sputtered a bit, failing for an answer, when Mark promised they would come by the next day for the morning meal.

As the old man wandered away, Sharon began to giggle, and Bridget knew she would have to tell Mark soon to what he'd just committed. She started to giggle too, and knew that she would have to tell him now.

For what it was worth, he took it quite well. "Perhaps we can just have the omelette _sans_ hallucinogens," he said in a very steady, reasonable voice.

………

"My nose got a little burned."

He turned her around from where she was peering at herself in the mirror, then examined the reddened in great detail. "I can barely tell," he said, stroking her face gently.

She winced a little. "Think my cheeks are burned too."

"You probably got more sun today than you did the whole rest of your trip." After a pause, he added, "Your eyes look very bright for all of that fresh air."

"Fresh air," she said playfully. "Yes, the _fresh air_ did it."

After a quick shower (and an application of some lotion on the most irritated of skin) and a brief but solid nap, they dressed again in order discover the nap was not as brief as they'd thought, and that their meal would be either a late lunch or an early dinner. "Oh well," Mark said, surprising her again. "We're on a holiday. We can have flexible schedules."

Bridget rang up Sharon's room to find she had still been sleeping, and told her that they should go without her. "Besides," she said, "I'm sure you two don't need me hanging around like a chaperone. Though that didn't seem to matter earlier."

Bridget felt her skin tint with embarrassment. "We'll see you later then? Maybe for drinks at the bar?"

"Sure," she said. After a pause Shaz added, "You know, Bridge, I'm sorry I didn't give Mark more of a chance back home. He's a really good guy, you know?"

She turned her eyes to him; he was idly combing through his hair, trying to make some of the waves settle into place, until he realised she was looking at him. "I do know, yes." With her gaze still directed at Mark, she then smiled, said goodbye and hung up the phone.

"So what do you know?" he asked, a smug smile telling her he knew she'd been speaking in a complimentary fashion about him.

"That now I'll just have to keep you," she said with a resigned sigh. "Even though I hardly missed you at all."

"Not even a little bit," he stated, coming up close, taking her hips in his hands.

"Nope."

He appeared to consider something for many long moment before bringing both hands around to squeeze her backside and press her up against him.

"You're sure?"

She laughed throatily then kissed him.

Lunch, dinner or whatever it was… it could wait.

_The end._


End file.
